


Beowulf and the Mist Monster

by juliasasswipe99



Category: Fantasy - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:11:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliasasswipe99/pseuds/juliasasswipe99
Summary: Just read it!





	Beowulf and the Mist Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first post on here. And it's a story I actually wrote for an English class. Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Beowulf and the Mist Monster**

 

The misty menace rolls silently out of the dark mountain that was its dwelling. Her large red eyes scanning the landscape for signs of life. Seeing nothing but hearing the merriment carried on the wind from Herot. The Danes she knows and the new coming Geats are celebrating the death of her mother. Her mourning is matched by their glee. As the cleverest and swiftest and most loyal of her children, she has sworn an oath of vengeance on the one who dealt the killing blow to her mother’s glorious life. She knows not that she shall be the end of her mother’s legacy.

She slithers and slides close to the ground so as to become invisible. Her misty flesh blending with the fog and dew clinging to the grass and stone chilled by the night. Only the brightness of her flame-like eyes could give her away. Her horns and teeth shine dully in the wan light of the crescent moon. She is silent as the night. Cold as the lake of her home. Suffocating as the fog in the dawn.

Her aeriform body floats gracefully to the doors of Herot. She now hears nothing but the snores of the drunken dwellers inside. She smiles a sickly smirk and begins to push herself through the door, her gaseous form flowing easily past the cracks in the wood and iron. It is dark inside but her mother gave her the eyes of a feline. The outlines of the sleeping occupants are sharp in her eyes, their wheezing breaths loud in her ears. She glides between them, not stirring a one. She eyes her prey and selects one of the intoxicated inhabitants, a female with long golden hair and a supple body. She grins and wraps her dewy coils around the girl, gently lifting her above the floor of the hall. The child stirs and moans, then settles with her arms around the damp beast, nuzzling her face on the flesh of the monster. The monster is taken aback. She has never felt the embrace of any creature, beast or human. She feels a warmth arise inside her, unlike anything in her considerable life. She beams a small smile down on the girl, one without malice, cruelty, or hostility of any kind. Suddenly, she realizes her mission once again. She tightens her grip on her victim and slides across the floor of Herot to the doors. Knowing she can not meld the child through the door, she hastens her pace and exits the great hall with a force of wind strong enough to blast the doors open and cause them to shudder on their iron hinges. She envelopes the child in her mist so as not to wake her with the noise. She then silently, hurriedly makes her way back to the cavern from whence she came.

〜

The hall is awoken by the crash of the doors on their frames. The occupants scramble to make sense of the noise and the onslaught of frigid air. The men are fumbling for their swords and the women are attempting to stay out of the way. Beowulf, now king of the Geats, rushes into the great hall.

With a booming voice that shakes the rafters, he bellows, “SILENCE! WHAT HAS HAPPENED?”

The hall grows still as everyone tries to collect his or her thoughts. Then the room explodes as a cacophony of voices all offer their own theories.

“”Twas a troll,” one says.

“Nay. A flock of faeries!” someone claims.

“Mayhap ‘tis the ghost of Grendel come to haunt us!” proposes yet another.

Beowulf strode into the great hall and a hush fell across his people. His keen eyes searching every bed. He counts as he passes each sleeping place. He is filled with enormous dread when he comes to the last bed and realizes they are one child short.

“Where is Lena?” the king asks quietly.

“Sire?” one of his warriors queries gently. No one is quite sure what their liege has asked them.

“WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?” Beowulf screeches, tears streaming down his face.

〜

She watches the girl sleep peacefully in her cavern. She has all but memorized the child’s breathing patterns by the time she awakens.

The child wakes slowly, at first, then all at once. She jerks upright and looks around in a gaze of mixed terror and intrigue. It takes her a moment or two to notice the creature sharing the dwelling.

“EEEEEEK!” she screeches as she shoots to her feet. She attempts to sprint away from this ghastly being in front of her. All she succeeds in doing is running into the wall of the cave.

The monster glides over to the quivering heap if a girl. She sees that the closer she approaches, the wider the girl’s eyes become. She attempts to quiet the girl with the smooth swishing of her tail. Unfortunately, this only frightens the girl more.

“Lord and Heaven above! Who...WHAT are you?” she wails.

“I am Galaea, the mist of dreamers, the fog of nightmares, daughter of the Great One. And I shan’t harm you if you comply with my instructions” she replies calmly.

“Oh? And what might these demands be, monster?” the child inquires coyly.

“My name, little pest, is Galaea. And you shall refer to me as such. Is that understood?” Galaea asks sternly.

“Oh...yes, Galaea. Forgive me,” she answers when she sees the red gleam in her captor’s eyes.

“Splendid, little insect. My first request-”

“May I ask a favor of you, ma’am?” the child whispers.

“Aye, you may, urchin. And your request is what?”

“Could you call me by my name? My name is Lena, princess of the Geats, daughter of our great king Beowulf. But Lena will suffice.”

“Very well, Lena. I shall grant you this boon. Now, on to more serious matters…”

〜

 

“Where could she have gone?” the king demanded of the guard in front of him.

“Well, the doors were blown open from the inside, sire. And I doubt a girl of her size could have done that herself. So it may have been that she was taken by someone. Or something.”

Beowulf strides around the hall, his hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought. What could have done this? he asked himself. Grendel and his foul mother are dead. What…

“Sire! We found something!”

“Yes? What is it?” he asks as he runs to his thane.

“It’s a note, sir. In a very crude hand...”

_Beowulf, Slayer of my kin, Monster of Herot,_

_I, Galaea, daughter of the Great One, demand that you bring to me the body of my most glorious mother and the head of my brother, Grendel, so I may send them to the next life in a proper manner. If these demands are not met, I shall slay one of your own kin. Aye, I am referring to your daughter. She is here with me in my dwelling. Make no attempts to come for her before you have given me what I have asked for. Should I see any man who is not yourself approach with the remains of my family, yours shall be slain. If my demands are not completed within a fortnight, the girl shall perish. Should all of my instructions be obeyed, the child shall be returned to you, unharmed._

_Galaea_

“That arrogant spawn of-” someone began.

“Calm yourself. We must comply with these demands. Do any of you wish to see Lena dead?” their king inquired of them.

Many heads shook solemnly. The realization of the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on all shoulders. They all loved the princess as a daughter or a sister or a niece. None of even the most stoic warriors could bear the thought of that sweet little babe being harmed. No, the instructions must be followed to preserve the child’s well-being. One by one, the warriors all nodded to their liege that they were ready to help with anything they could to save the princess.

“Good. Now, who remembers where the monsters’ foul bodies lay?”

〜

The girl was of exceptional cleverness and she was quick with the solution to most problems she faced. However, she could not think her way out of her current predicament. She tried and tried but she could not figure a way to escape without being harmed, or worse, killed. The monster wasn’t unkind to her, but she still feared what it would do if she attempted to leave. So she finally sits down and makes peace with the notion that she must wait for her father to come rescue her. As she sits, her stomach makes an unpleasant rumbling sound and she realizes just how hungry she was.

“Excuse me, Galaea. Would there be anything to eat here?” she asks politely so as not to stir the wrath of the monster.

“I believe I have some roast mutton I took from a farmer for just this occasion. I don’t want my leverage to go hungry, now do I?” she replies coyly.

“Oh. I-I suppose not,” Lena says quietly.

“It should be in the crevice over there,” Galaea gestures with her massive head.

“Thank you,” the child responds meekly.

Galaea watches the girl move gracefully to the area directed to her. She decides that, though the father is a demon himself, perhaps his progeny does not share in his heartlessness. The child seems quite amiable and almost sweet. For an instant, Galaea considers returning the girl to her family and begging their forgiveness in return for being able to visit her. Suddenly, she regains her composure and notices the bairn staring at her.

“And why do you watch me so?” she queries.

“I was just shocked that, when you seem to be deep in thought, your eyes turn blue and you smile. What were you pondering so intently?” Lena pries.

“That is none of your concern, little one. Eat your dinner and let me not see you for a blessed moment,” Galaea answers sharply. At the fall of the youth’s face, she instantly regrets her harsh tone. “Forgive me, Lena. I meant not to hurt your feelings. I only wanted to assure you that what I was thinking was of no importance.”

“Oh. Alright. I did not mean to snoop. You just seem to be a most fascinating individual,” she says with a half-smile on her delicate face.

At this, Galaea was taken aback. She had never been referred to as fascinating. She had never heard herself mentioned with anything but hate or scorn. It was a pleasurable sensation, having oneself associated with something agreeable. Her eyes soften and she smiles at the youngster. She feels something very tight inside begin to unwind.

Perhaps I could grow to enjoy the presence of this little human, she thinks gently.

〜

“We have found the remains, sire. Where shall we place them for the moment?”

“Place them within my chambers. I shall prepare to take them to the cave of the monster,” Beowulf, King of the Geats, remarks. Every moment with his little Lena in the clutches of that demon was like a dagger in his heart. Though he understood the monster’s demands. He understood the need to protect one’s kin. But he could not comprehend how even a monster such as she could kidnap a child to have these requirements met. He decides that perhaps he could never understand a demon’s way of thinking. He only wants his daughter returned safely to him. He cares for nothing else. His men did not try to pull him into a drinking game. No one attempts to make jokes with him. Even the women hesitate to ask him favors. He was more reclusive than ever. And he showed no signs of recovery.

〜

Lena’s laughter echoed through the cavern and woke the weary Galaea. The sound startled her. She had never heard such a sound so sweet and clear. And she had never in her life heard the noise outside of the mead hall so near her home. She glides swiftly through the corridors to the living chamber where the girl was kept. She halts just inside the entrance and watched Lena as she chases a butterfly that had found it’s way into the cavern.

“Come back, you pretty thing!” Lena squeals in a delightful voice. She continues to race around the room. Her movements are exceptionally graceful despite the rough floor of the chamber.

Galaea can’t help but smile as the beaming child’s laughter fills her heart. The more she thinks about parting with this sweet little creature, the more solemn she becomes. The thought of this ray of happiness leaving her dark home is crushing. But she knows that the child must be returned to her family, just as Galaea’s own family would be returned to her soon enough.

“Eep!” Lena squeaks as her foot is caught in a crag in the floor.

Galaea’s quick vision serves the child well. She rushes into the chamber and catches the girl with her face inches above the ground. Her foggy flesh acts as a cushion to apprehend the girl.

“You must be more careful, little one. The floors are treacherous,” she says soothingly.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Did I make a nuisance of myself?” she asks timidly.

“Of course not. Actually, I am growing to enjoy your company. And what were you so focused on that you lost track of your feet?”

“A butterfly! Oh, they are just the most wonderfully, beautiful things!” Lena begins with excitement. “My mother made a hairpin for me in the shape of a butterfly. She made it just before she died.” Her lovely face became ashen and fell away from Galaea’s view, masked by her golden hair.

“Oh child. I have lost my own mother as well. I know your pain all too well,” Galaea whispers gravely. “But let us not speak of such somber things! Let us recount happier topics!” she says with a forced smile.

And with that, Lena becomes again the happy, cheerful cherub. She laughs heartily and begins to tell Galaea jokes and stories and happenings in her own life. And she listens intently when Galaea speaks of her life. They sit together and talk for hours, just enjoying each other’s company.

〜

Soon. Soon I must depart for the lair of that foul beast who holds my daughter captive, Beowulf thinks to himself. It had been almost half a fortnight since Lena had been taken. He grew more fretful with each passing day she spent in the grasp of the monster. He prayed every day that he would find her whole and unharmed. The correspondence from Galaea stated that Lena would not be hurt if her instructions were followed. He hopes she was speaking the truth. But any kin of Grendel and spawn of that demon in the lake could not be trustworthy. He then made the decision to wear his mail and bring his sword and make himself ready for battle. Only then could he convince himself that he was worthy of liberating his dearest daughter. He just hoped that he would find no need to use his strength. He wanted no battle. He only wanted Lena returned to him.

〜

“Child?” Galaea calls out in her sleeping chamber. She hears no answer.

“Little one?” she bids slightly louder as she drifts down the corridor. Again, no reply.

“LENA?” she frantically shouts as she bursts into the living cavern.

“Yes? Were you looking for me?” Lena inquires as she sees her gaseous friend enter the room with a worried look on her face.

“Little one, do not frighten me so. I thought you had gone or become lost,” Galaea states with a sigh of relief.

“Forgive me. I was only searching for something to eat. I found some salted rabbit,” she says matter-of-factly, as if she were proud of herself for discovering her morsel.

“Ah. I am glad you are unharmed and well. I…” Galaea’s smile fades and she pauses. Her head whips around as if she hears something. “Wait here, little one. Enjoy your meal.”

Galaea speeds down the dark corridor before the child has time to protest. She has heard something but she must confirm that it is not what she fears. She hastens as she reaches the hidden entrance to her secluded home. She slips only her head through the small opening. And she affirms her fears. She see a lone rider in battle regalia riding to the base of the mountain. And on the wagon behind him is a large disembodied head and the body of her mother.

〜

His heart hammers in his ears to the beat of his horse’s hooves. He feels his chest may explode before he can see his child again. But he must press on, he must give her a chance to survive. He must attempt to save her. He can feel that he is nearing the residence of the monster. There is a strange presence all around him. It strikes him not as evil but as...lonely. He is shocked because he does not understand how, as he comes to the dwelling of a terrible beast, he can feel no evil or malice or hatred. Only great sadness and loneliness. He wonders if the monster feels how Lena felt when her own mother died.

Suddenly, he sees the form of the demon. He sees its flowing state emerge from a crag in the mountain face. The monster was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was a haze, a fog, a creature made entirely of mist. He is fascinated and wishes he could learn more about this beast but he could not afford to let his interests come before those of his daughter.

As he rides he unsheathes his magnificent sword and bears it down to the image of the monster. Whether or not his daughter was alive didn’t matter at the moment. This villain would pay for ever pondering a move against the King of the Geats.

〜

“Beowulf, king of the Geats and slayer of my kin, I greet you as, if not a friend, an associate. You shall be pleased to know that Lena is unharmed as promised. She…” Galaea trails off as she sees the gleam of the dull sun on the broadside of his raised sword. She knows she should not be as shocked as she feels. She thought these humans could be reasoned with. Now she realizes that she was mistaken.

She gathers her strength and prepares for the inevitable blow from his blade. Her eyes shift from blue to purple to red as she readys herself for battle.

Suddenly, she spots another flash of light from just behind her. She expects that she is being ambushed by the king’s thanes. But this gleam is golden, not silver like that of a blade. Too late she recognizes the glimmer as the sun reflecting on Lena’s golden hair. The child must have followed her out of the mountain through the small corridor. Lena is running rapidly down the slope of the mountain face towards her father’s racing stallion.

“No, little one!” Galaea tries to scream to her but she makes no sound. She herself is swift but the child’s legs are more nimble and the decline of the hill works to hasten the girl’s speed.

“Father, nay! Do not harm my friend! I am here! I am well!” Lena screeches to her father.

But he does not hear or see his daughter. His helmet restricts his view and his hearing. All he sees is the monster with a terrified look on its face. He hears only the thunder of his horse’s hooves and his own heart. He smirks.

It is afraid of me. It is not going to put up much of a fight, he thinks to himself smugly. He urges his steed forward, faster, faster. He adjusts his sword’s angle so perhaps he could make a bit of fun and only wound the beast. He slants his sword down to maim it.

He feels his sword connect with something and his stallion screeches to a halt. But the monster is still much too far away. He is puzzled briefly. He glances down and sees a head topped with golden hair.

Realization slams into him like the kick of a horse.

“Lena?” he whispers, barely audible.

“H-hello father…” her voice seems faint and far away.

Without warning, the beast utters an unearthly scream and barrels down the mountainside. Her rage is only matched by her heartbreak. She cares no more for the remains of her family. They were cruel and heartless. She cares only for Lena. This sweet, delicate little flower was the only happiness she had ever known and would ever know again. For once in her long, sad life she had found bliss. And now it had been snatched from her by the one man who swore to protect that flower.

Beowulf’s tears run down his face as he tears off his helmet. He has destroyed the one thing he made an oath to defend. He swore to her mother that he would protect her to his dying breath if necessary. His blade, his weapon, his stroke has killed her and there was nothing he could do about it.

Galaea finally reaches the spot where her flower lay dying. She snatches the child away from the fiend that struck her. She cradles the little heap of joy and warmth in her arms and she tries to soothe the girl’s pain. The blade ran through her shoulder and down to less than an inch within her heart. Her death was no longer a possibility. It was a certainty.

“Galaea, it hurts...it hurts,” she cries piteously.

“I know, little one. It shan’t hurt for much longer. I promise,” Galaea replies somberly. For the first time in her life, she cries. She never knew she could produce tears, but now she does. She cries for the terrible waste of a potentially beautiful life. She cries for the short time she was able to know such a wonderful being. She cries for the pain she can feel radiate from the girl. And she cries for the father. She pities him and can’t imagine what he must be feeling. She sees him crying on his knees and wonders, How could one be so focused on revenge that they would kill anything in their path?

“Galaea? Why is the hurt leaving?” Lena whispers.

“I am taking it from you, my little one,” she responds soothingly. Galaea is trying to take the pain from Lena and transfer it to herself. The pain the child feels is excruciating but it is better for Galaea to bear it than a small, helpless child. The pain flows from Lena’s wound into Galaea’s heart. And slowly, ever so slowly, she begins to feel herself dying as well. The pain is too much for her to handle but she continues to take it from the child.

“Galaea?”

“Yes, Lena?”

“Will we see each other again?”

“Of course we will. We are going to the same place, are we not?”

“I suppose so. Galaea?”

“Yes, my flower?”

“Would you like to meet my mother?”

“I would like that very much.”

And as they both drift upwards, they smile at each other.

 

**The End**


End file.
